Wingrove, David - Chung Kuo 02 (6 page)

He turned away,
smiling beneath the mask of grief. It had been so easy. Fu and
Chai—what simpletons they'd been! He thought back, remembering
how he had drugged them and taped them murdering the copy of the
T'ang. But they knew nothing of that, only that they were being
sought for a crime they had no memory of committing.

Trust—it
was a fragile thing. Break it and the world broke with it. And Wang
Hsien had broken Sun Li Hua's trust in him some years ago.

He glanced
across and saw himself in the wall-length mirror opposite.
Do I
look any different?
he wondered. Does
my face betray the
change that's
taken place in
me? No. For I
was
different that very day, after he'd spumed me. It was then I first
stuck the knife in him. Then. For the rest was only the fulfillment
of
that first imagining. He turned and saw Fischer standing
there, watching him from the doorway. "Well, Captain, have you
found the murderers?"

"Not yet,
Master Sun, but we shall, I promise you."

Fischer let his
eyes rest on Sun a moment longer, then looked away. It was as DeVore
said: Sun Li Hua was the murderer. While Sun had been in his office
Fischer had had his lieutenant take a sample of his blood under the
pretext of giving him a sedative. That sample had shown what DeVore
had said it would show, traces of CT-7, a drug that created the
symptoms of acute distress.

His shock, his
overwhelming grief—both had been chemically faked. And why fake
such things unless there was a reason? And then there was the camera.
There was no way of proving it had been tampered with, but it made
sense. Apart from himself, only Sun Li Hua knew the combination; only
Sun had the opportunity. It was possible, of course, that they had
simply not seen Fu and Chai go into the room, but his lieutenant was
a good man—alert, attentive. He would not have missed something
so obvious. Which meant that the tape of the murder had been
superimposed.

But whose hand
lay behind all this? Hung Mien-lo? It was possible. After all, he had
most to gain from Wang Hsien's death. Yet he had seen with his own
eyes how fair, how scrupulous, Hung had been in dealing with the
matter. He had let nothing be rushed or overlooked, as if he, too,
were anxious to know who had ordered the T'ang's death.

As he would need
to. For he would know that whoever killed a T'ang might kill again.

No.
Would
kill again.

"Captain
Fischer . . ."

He turned. It
was Wang Ta-hung. Fischer bowed low, wondering at the same time where
Hung Mien-lo had got to.

"Yes,
Chieh
Hsia
?"

"Have you
found them yet?"

He hesitated. It
had been almost thirty minutes since they had begun searching for
Sun's two assistants and still there was no trace of them.

"No,
Chieh
Hsia.
I'm afraid—"

He stopped,
astonished. A man had appeared in the doorway at Wang Ta-hung's back,
his hair untidy, his clothing torn. In his hand he held a bloodied
knife.

"Wang
Sau-leyan!"

Ta-hung spun
around and cried out, then took two faltering steps backward, as if
he feared an attack. But Wang Sau-leyan merely laughed and threw the
knife down.

"The
bastards were hiding in my rooms. One cut me here." He pulled
down his
pau
at the neck, revealing a thin line of red. "I
stuck him for that. The other tried to take my knife from me, but he
knew better after a while."

"Gods!"
said Fischer, starting forward. "Where are they?"

Wang Sau-leyan
straightened up, touching the wound gingerly. "Where I left
them. I don't think they'll be going far."

Fischer turned
and looked across at the doctors. "Quick, now! Come with me,
ch'un tzu!
I must save those men."

Wang Sau-leyan
laughed and shook his head. He was staring at his brother strangely.
"Do what you must, Captain. You'll find them where I left them."

Fischer turned,
facing the new T'ang. "
Chieh Hsia
, will you come?"

Wang Ta-hung
swallowed, then nodded. "Of course."

They met Hung
Mien-lo in the corridor outside.

"You've
found them, then?"

Fischer bowed,
then glanced at Wang Sau-leyan. "The Prince found them, in his
quarters. He has incapacitated them, it seems."

Hung Mien-lo
glared at Wang Sau-leyan, then turned angrily away. "Come, then.
Let's see what the Prince has left us, neh?"

* *
*

WANG SAU-LEYAN
sat on a footstool in his bedroom, letting the doctor dress the wound
at his neck. Across from him Fischer was moving about the bathroom
suite, examining the two corpses.

"Why?"
Hung Mien-lo asked him again, standing over him almost threateningly.
"Why did you kill them?"

He looked up,
ignoring Hung Mien-lo, his eyes piercing his elder brother. "They
were dangerous men. They killed our father. What was to stop them
killing me?"

He smiled
tightly, then looked back at the bathroom. He saw Fischer straighten
up, turn, and come to the doorway. He had been searching the dead
men's clothing, as if looking for something they had stolen.

"Where are
they?" Fischer asked, looking directly at him. Wang Sau-leyan
stared back at him, irritated by his insolence. "Where are
what?" he asked angrily, wincing as the doctor tightened the
bandage about his shoulder.

"The ears,"
said Fischer, coming out into the room.

"Ears?"
Wang Sau-leyan gave a short laugh.

"Yes,"
Fischer said, meeting the Prince's eyes. "The ears, my Lord.
Where are the great T'ang's ears?"

The Prince rose
sharply from his stool, pushing Hung Mien-lo aside, his broad
moonlike face filled with disbelief. He strode across and stood
glowering at Fischer, his face only inches from his.

"What are
you suggesting, Captain?"

Fischer knelt,
his head bowed. "Forgive me, my Lord. I was suggesting nothing.
But the murderers took your father's ears, and now there is no sign
of them."

Wang Sau-leyan
stood there a moment longer, clearly puzzled, then whirled about,
looking directly at his brother.

"Is this
true, Ta-hung?"

"
Chieh
Hsia
. . ." Hung Mien-lo reminded him, but Wang Sau-leyan
ignored him.

"Well,
brother? Is it true?"

Wang Ta-hung let
his head fall before the fierceness of his younger brother's gaze.

He nodded. "It
is so."

Wang Sau-leyan
took a shuddering breath then looked about him again, his whole
manner suddenly defiant, his eyes challenging any in that room to
gainsay him.

"Then I'm
glad I killed them."

Hung Mien-lo
stared at the Prince a moment, astonished by his outburst, then
turned and looked across at Wang Ta-hung. The contrast was marked.
Tiger and lamb, they were. And then he understood. Wang Sau-leyan had
dared to have his father killed. Yes! Looking at him he knew it for a
certainty. Sun had had access to the T'ang and motive enough, but
only Wang Sau-leyan had had the will—the sheer audacity—to
carry through the act.

It took his
breath. He looked at the Prince with new eyes. Then, almost without
thinking, he stepped forward and, his head bowed in respect,
addressed him.

"Please, my
Prince, sit down and rest. No blame attaches to you. You did as you
had to. The murderers are dead. We need look no further."

Wang Sau-leyan
turned, facing him, a smile coming to his lips. Then he turned toward
Fischer, his face hardening again.

"Good. Then
get the bodies of those vermin out of here and leave me be. I must
get some sleep."

Though
the enemy be stronger in numbers, we may prevent him from righting.
Scheme so as to discover his plans and the likelihood of their
success. Rouse him, and leam the principle of his activity or
inactivity. Force him to reveal himself, so as to find out his
vulnerable spots. Carefully compare the opposing army with your own,
so that you may know where strength is superabundant and where it is
deficient.

—SUN
TZU,
The Art
of War, fifth century
b.c.

IT WAS DAWN on
Mars. In the lowland desert of the Golden Plains it was minus 114
degrees and rising. Deep shadow lay like the surface of a fathomless
sea to the east, tracing the lips of huge escarpments; while to the
north and west the sun's first rays picked out the frozen slopes and
wind-scoured mouths of ancient craters. Through the center of this
landscape ran a massive pipeline, dissecting the plain from north to
south, a smooth vein of polished white against the brown-red terrain.

For a time the
plain was still and silent. Then, from the south, came the sound of
an approaching craft; the dull roar of its engines carried faintly on
the thin atmosphere. A moment later it drew nearer, following the
pipeline. Feng Shou Pumping Station was up ahead, in the distance—a
small oasis in the billion-year sterility of the Martian
desert—discernible even at this range from the faint spiral
curve of cloud that placed a blue-white smudge amid the perfect
pinkness of the sky.

The report had
come in less than an hour earlier, an unconfirmed message that an
unauthorized craft had been challenged and brought down in the Sea of
Divine Kings, eighty
li
northwest of Feng Shou Station. There
was no more than that; but Karr, trusting to instinct, had
commissioned a Security craft at once, speeding north from Tian Men
K'ou City to investigate.

Karr stared down
through the dark filter of the cockpit's screen at the rugged terrain
below, conscious that after eight months of scouring this tiny planet
for some sign of the man, he might at last be nearing the end of his
search.

At first he had
thought this a dreadful place. The bitter cold, the thin unnatural
atmosphere, the closeness of the horizon, the all-pervading redness
of the place. He had felt quite ill those first few weeks, despite
the enjoyable sensation of shedding more than 60 percent of his body
weight to Mars' much smaller surface gravity. The Han Security
officer who had been his host had told him it was quite natural to
feel that way: it took some time to acclimatize to Mars. But he had
wondered briefly whether this cold, inhospitable planet might not be
his final resting place. Now, however, he felt sad that his stay was
coming to an end. He had grown to love the austere magnificence of
Mars. Eight months. It was little more than a season here.

As the craft
drew nearer he ordered the pilot to circle the station from two
li
out. The five huge chimneys of the atmosphere generator dominated
the tiny settlement, belching huge clouds of oxygen-rich air into the
thin and frigid atmosphere. Beneath them the sprawl of settlement
buildings was swathed in green—hardy mosses that could survive
the extreme temperatures of the Martian night. Farther out, the red
sands were rimed with ice that formed a wide, uneven ring of
whiteness about the Station. The generator itself was deep beneath
the surface, its taproots reaching down toward the core of the planet
to draw their energy. Like thirty other such generators scattered
about the planet's surface, it had been pumping oxygen into the skies
of Mars for more than one hundred and fifty years. Even so, it would
be centuries yet before Mars had a proper atmosphere again.

Karr made a full
circle of the settlement, studying the scene. There were four
transports parked to the east of the pipeline, in an open space
between some low buildings. At first, in the half light, they had
seemed to form one single, indistinct shape—a complexity of
shadows—but through the resolution of field glasses he could
make out individual markings. One was a craft belonging to the
settlement; another two were Security craft from out of Kang Kua in
the north. The fourth was unmarked. A small, four-man flier, the
design unlike anything he had seen before on Mars.

He leaned
forward and tapped out that day's security code, then sat back,
waiting. In a moment it came back, suitably amended, followed by an
update.

Karr gave
himself a moment to digest the information, then nodded to himself.
"Okay. Set her down half a
li
to the south of those
craft. Then suit up. I want to be ready for any trouble."

The young pilot
nodded tersely, setting them down softly on the southern edge of the
settlement. While the pilot suited up, Karr sat there, staring out at
the settlement, watching for any sign that this might yet be a trap.
"Ready?"

The young man
nodded. "Good. Wait here. I'll not be long."

Karr took a
breath, then released the hatch. As he climbed out, systems within
his suit reacted immediately to the sudden changes in temperature and
pressure. It was cold out here. Cold enough to kill a man in minutes
if his suit failed.

There were five
buildings surrounding the craft: three domes and two long,
flat-topped constructions, the domes to the left, the flat-tops to
the right. The pumping station itself was the largest of the domes,
straddling the pipeline like a giant swelling. It was one of eight
similar stations—situated at two hundred li intervals along the
pipeline—that pumped water from the sprawling Tzu Li Keng Seng
generating complex in the south to the three great northern cities of
Hong Hai, Kang Kua, and Chi Shan.

Karr walked
toward the huge hemisphere of the station, the tiny heat generator in
his suit clicking on as he moved into the shadow of the giant
pipeline. As he came nearer a door hissed open and unfolded toward
the ground, forming steps. Without hesitation he mounted them and
went inside, hearing the door close behind him.